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2014.06.02 - Let's Make a Deal
Galatea walks into the throne room of Castle Doom in her standard white black ops uniform.. So ostenstatious. Still, she was here to get an agreement between the U.S. and the government of Latveria. off the books. She needed to get flyover rights for spy missions aainst Qurac - itself not on good terms with Latveria. But this country was not exactly in the history of dealing amicably with the United States. She had been given a wide latitude on what she can offer in exchange for the flyover rights. She had been given all sorts of briefs on dealing with Doom. The biggest of which was - do not try to kill him when he starts talking. Galata smiles and bows a little. "Thank you for seeing me, your majesty." Since the early days of his reign, Doctor Doom has made a point of asserting his freedom to rule as he sees fit, regardless of the opinions of the international community. Diplomatic mission are rare in Latveria, but her ostentatiously gothic embassies dot major cities across the globe; she's had a UN delegate since the Doctor's ascent, but he rarely, if ever allows its endless parade of votes and hearings to slow or contain his ambitions. Still--he's never been unwilling to make deals, provided that the terms suit him; Galatea is certainly not the first foreigner to come seeking his aid, and it's unlikely that she'll be the last. Mostly, it's just a matter of ensuring that such deals leave him as little room for interpretation as can be managed; anything else has the potential for unpredictability. To the outside world, and even among some government officials who ought to know better, Latveria still carries the stigma of its previous incarnation: a backwards, nigh-on feudal slice of third world mediocrity; even a quick flyover should be enough to put the lie to that stereotype, though. While its architecture still still carries the outward aesthetic of a bygone era, gleaming passenger trains hum along tracks that connect residential centers, business districts, and industrial areas in cities across the country, and small numbers of fuel efficient automobiles carry other commuters to the places where the trains don't quite reach. Similarly, Castle Doom itself - for all its old world trappings - is a hive of scientists, technicians and government officials, all watched over by a force of silent mechanical guards and lit by the incandescent bulbs and the computer screens that have been carefully integrated with its aging architecture. The throne room itself is a rare break from this marriage of old and new: devoid of guards, a lone figure sits on an elevated throne of granite, fingers steepled before his hooded, metal-clad face as he regards the woman before him. It's longer than it is wide, and each of the stone pillars lining the length of the space bears the carved image and features of some terrible, unearthly creature, as if trapped within at the moment of its demise. Flames sputter in the mouths and eyes of each image, as well as in the braziers suspending near the tops of the pillars; additional light streams in from stained glass windows many feet above the throne itself, bathing the monarch in intersecting beams of sunlight. "Of course," Doctor Doom replies, shifting only to lean forward as if to examine the emissary a little closer. "Latveria always has an ear for its--acquaintance in the West; I trust that you wouldn't have been sent if your superiors weren't prepared to make the trip worth both of our time. Anything less would be insult." Galatea smiles a bit. "Well, I'm not really a diplomat. I'm a soldier. But my superiors felt I was a good choice for this meeting, given I can do things most diplomats can't. Since I'm not a diplomat, I'll just say I'm not good at beating around the bush, so to speak. I have an objective, and I do mean to achieve that objective. Today, my objective is to get flyover rights for the United States over your country, to deal with some problems that are occuring in Qurac. Which I know is not on good terms with Latveria as well." She puts her arms on her hips. "To that end, I'd like to know what you'd want in exchange for this boon to my country?" "Ah," Doom exhales, his head tilting to the right just so. "And what would your aircraft be doing in Qurac, once they passed freely through my airways?" he wonders. "As they passed through?" Without waiting for an answer, he drops his hands to lay his arms on the rests beside him and continues, "Every mission - every last plane, drone, or clandestine superhuman that would occupy my airspace - would need to be documented--thoroughly. Furthermore, Latveria would need to receive a copy of any logs or imaging from the missions--to review them for security purposes. These are ground rules; I take the safety of my land and my people very seriously." Once that is said, the monarch braces pushes against the throne as he stands up, then begins walking down the stairs that lead up to it. "What is, I wonder, that you have to offer that a real diplomat wouldn't...?" he asks as he slowly advances on the woman, aggression absent from his posture. Behind the mask, reticles dance along Galatea's body as the armor's sensor systems try to take her measure; if she's giving off any excess or exotic energies, they should be up to the task of letting him know. Galatea nods. "We'd be fine with documenting every flight. We'd even be willing to share the information we learn from Qurac with you, as they're your mutual enemy." She waits while she'd investigated by the dictator. "Lets just say I'm a very dangerous woman. And having a favor from me is a very good thing. If you'd like a demonstration, I'm sure I can give an example of my abilities?" "Mmm," is Doctor Doom's only verbal response to the offer. He actually stops a few feet short of the woman, rather than getting in her face or circling around her; his scans are just as good from where he is now, and they're all coming back negative. Which is probably why his other response is to hold his right hand up and snap his fingers, sending a sharp, metallic note through the cavernous space and - more pressingly - opening a hidden door in the wall to Galatea's left. A quartet of the humanoid, magenta-bodied guards that patrol the castle's halls rush out, the lead machine stopping after a couple of feet to fire off a burst of automatic gunfire from wrist-mounted weapons while the others continue past it to converge on the emissary. One is armed with glowing clubs, another with a large, thrumming sword; the last is unarmed, but its fists seem significantly larger than the other three's. And they aren't alone; heavy footsteps echo from just beyond the hidden door, signalling the swift approach of reinforcements, should the first four fall. "Very well," Doom agrees, taking a step back from the woman. "For your sake, I hope that your superiors chose wisely." Galatea smiles. "Fun." she says. Then the action begins as a flurry of automatic gunfire hits into the girl and either flattens against her body or ricochets every which way. The girl doesnt even bat an eye as she quickly flies at it. Then she rips the robots arms off and slams them into it before slamming her fist into its center. The Thing would have had far more trouble with damaging this particular robot, but the girl's hand literally went right through like it was tinfoil. She grabs the wreckage of the first robot, and swings it around into the club-wielding robot, sending them both smashing into a far wall. Then, somehow she's already at the third sword-wielding robot. The girl is fast. It's not just flying. She literally seemed to be able to move faster than the normal eye can register. Plus she doesnt even try to dodge or evade the robot as it slams his sword down on her. Normally it should have split a girl like her in two. Instead the sword shatters upon impacting her head - not even doing so much as cutting a hair. The fourth humanoid slams its fist into her back as she's attacking the sword-wielding robot, but it doesnt really seem to affect her at all. She just grabs the sword-robot and throws it into the other one and flies up a bit. Then her eyes glow red and she smiles.... as a beam of red hot heat fires out from her eyes at the two robots. First they turn red hot. Then white hot. Then start to melt into metallic sludge. She then lands lightly on her feet again, idly brushing her uniform. The girl doesnt seem to have a single mark on her from the encounter, while the four robots are in various states of disrepair or outright destruction. "Now if you have something to actually show off my actual capabilities, your majesty, I'd be glad to do a demonstration of that as well." she says with a grin. "But yes, my superiors definitely chose wisely." Galatea puts a hand on her hip idly as she waits to see if Doom was impressed. Doom's field of vision is awash with reticles as his systems try to compensate for the emissary's blistering speed. The words 'TARGET ACQUIRED' and 'TARGET LOST' strobe back and forth so quickly that the thought of disabling those systems crosses his mind, briefly, before he resolves to just put up with it for the sake of science. At least those beams from her eyes are easier to track - and more importantly, analyze; a stream begins running across the bottom of his HUD after she unleashes them, as his systems work to measure and quantify what, exactly, he's dealing with. The flow of robots stops soon afterwards; Galatea has made her point and then some, not that the Doctor's stoic, cross-armed posture and unmoving visage do much to suggest that he's anything but a calm, dispassionate observer. "Another time, perhaps," he says as telemetry from the downed machines joins the data stream to give him some feedback on just how hard she was hitting him. "but for now, I have enough. You offer me a favor, in exchange for access to your adversaries? Very well; I would have your payment rendered to me in blood--''your'' blood. My laboratories have equipment capable of piercing even the densest of bodies, though it is possible that they may need recalibrating to compensate for yours. The procedures are painless; I would need a day at most." As his arms unfold, he again steps towards the woman, taking care to step over the twisted heaps and melted pools that were his minions; this time, he won't stop until he's close enough to offer her a gloved hand. "You would, of course, be my personal guest for the duration, with the wonders of Doomstadt at your fingertips; do we have a deal?" Galatea's smile flickers a bit. "Unfortunately, I'd have to get back to my superiors on if that would be possible. I'm assuming you would want to be able to somehow clone me. That.... sort of thing is difficult on a couple of levels. For one... there's nothing that can pierce my skin. For another, I'm authorized to grant you all sorts of favors under my own ability to give. My blood isnt mine to give." She pauses. "At least, for flyover rights." She adds, "But... my services, on the other hand, those I can give to you. I can do things for you so you do not have to sully your noble hands. I'm used to it. It's what I was born for. To do other people's dirty work." "Nothing that you know of," Doom confidently corrects, as if they're discussing ways to get whites whiter or surefire hiccup cures. He withdraws his hand as he says this, letting it hang at his side for the moment. "No matter, though: you cannot barter with what isn't yours, obviously. I would accept your services, to be called upon in a manner of my choosing that does not threaten the United States or its diplomatic or military allies." Once more, he offers her a hand, the joints of his armour humming softly as he does so. "If you like," he adds in a somewhat lower, more conspiratorial tone, "you may tell them that I let you have the rights in exchange for the intelligence alone; it makes no difference to Doom." Galatea nods and takes Doom's hand. "Thank you, your majesty. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear that." She smiles a bit. The guy might creep her out, but he let her destroy robots, and that's always fun. If her services to him involve wanton destruction, she'd probably consider it a double-win. "And I'd love to learn more about your incredible nation." Doom grips the clone's hand powerfully - far moreso than any normal man could - as he shakes it to seal the agreement. "I'm sure that this will be the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship between our two powers," he says in reply to her thanks. And who knows: maybe by the time he calls in that favor, he'll have figured out a way to get that sample after all; the gears of his diabolical mind are already churning with the possibilities. After letting go, he grips the edges of his cloak to make sure none of it is touching the oil slicks and slagged metal coating the floor. "If you like, I can give you the tour; for all that I have accomplished in this life, Latveria and her people are my greatest joy--my proudest achievement." Turning towards the double doors that tower over the opposite end of the room, he adds, "It would be my honour, Galatea--as it ever is when unknowing eyes are exposed to the majesty of Latveria for the first time." Category:Log